


Bucky's Book: Backstory

by BromeliadLucy



Series: Bucky's Book [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captivity, Hydra (Marvel), brief mention of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-15 02:53:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9215534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BromeliadLucy/pseuds/BromeliadLucy
Summary: The backstory of the character in 'Bucky's Book'.





	1. Chapter 1

The light attached to the Captain’s gun swept back and forth across the dark cell, objects appearing and vanishing as the torch moved on. A metal bedframe, the mattress dark with dirt; a chair, broken, lying on its back; a metal bowl, the remains of a meal long since congealed. The Captain saw nothing and started to walk past the locked door, then paused. A sound, the smallest quiet whimper. He stepped back, played his light across the room again.

“Buck?” He called over his shoulder, keeping his eyes trained on the room. “Something in here?” A step behind him and Barnes appeared from the dark. Both men stood silently, and heard it again, barely there. Barnes stepped forward, grasping the metal door firmly in his left hand, the light from the gun reflecting off the metal and sparking across the ceiling. With a deep grunt, he pulled once, twice, felt the hinge give way, the iron screaming in protest. Clattering loudly, the cell door fell to the side, and Barnes stepped in.

In the far corner, crouched foetally behind the bedhead, barely visible, was a figure. Bone-thin arms wrapped around a head covered in dull, tangled hair. Another whimper, animalistic with fear. Barnes relaxed, there was no danger here, from this tiny person. He crouched, ducking his head to try and peer under the folded arms.

“Hey there, hey… I’ve come to help. My name’s Bucky.” He spoke quietly, waited a second, reached out a hand then stopped as the head lifted. The Captain’s gun swung round, to provide light and cover. As the head raised into the light, both men’s eyes widened. It wasn’t clear under the dirt, and through the hunger-drawn face whether this was a woman or a boy, but one thing was very clear. The dark slashes where the mouth had been sewn shut.

As the person sat up, hesitantly, keeping their eyes on Barnes, there was the scraping of metal, harsh in the otherwise silent room. Following the noise, Barnes saw a heavy chain attached to the head of the bed. His eyes traced the chain upwards then he reached out a hand towards the shadow under the figures chin, where his fingers touched a cold iron shackle, fastened tight.

“Shit, what the hell is this?” For all his years under their control, Hydra still found new horrors to shock him with. He tried to make eye contact, but the filthy face was focussed over his shoulder, disconnected from the world, withdrawn. Nonetheless, he didn’t like to act without explanation, he knew that the loss of bodily autonomy was one of Hydra’s favourite tools, didn’t want to be complicit.

“I’m going to break this chain, OK? I need you to hold still.” No response. He drew in his breath, settled himself more firmly on his feet, then grasped the shackle, easing his fingers as gently as possible between the metal and the skin. With only slight strain showing on his face, his enhanced strength managed what no human could have done, wrenching the metal apart, dropping it to the ground. 

“We should go Buck, get back to the jet, Tony’s rigging this place to blow.” Rogers said quietly from outside the cell.

Barnes nodded as he stood. The figure behind the bed had yet to move, so he crouched again, wrapping one arm under their legs, another behind their back, and lifting them without difficulty. The movement drew out another whimper but otherwise there was no sign of life. His nose wrinkled, involuntarily, at the smell of unwashed, uncared for, flesh as they walked out of the cell and through the building.

Back on the jet, eyebrows were raised in surprise at the sight of Barnes carrying someone. He set the body down in a seat, fixed the belts around the unresponsive body. In the light, the figure seemed even more diminished, muscles wasted and skin grey with filth.

“I thought that base was abandoned… what the hell, is that… mouth sewn shut?” Barton peered at their new guest then backed away as Barnes glared. He’d been abused at the hands of Hydra, he felt the urge to protect and defend. He sat down, strapped himself in, as the jet prepared for take off, keeping his eyes fixed on the figure. As the jet rumbled into life and they felt themselves pressed back into their seats, their eyes turned to his, and stayed there.

As the jet landed at the Tower, they were met with a team of personnel, ready to take over retrieved files, to restock and refuel the jet, to debrief. Barnes ignored them all, unstrapping the body, whose eyes stayed locked on his own. Striding past the rest of the team, he carried the light body through the building to the medical floor, catching Dr. Cho’s eyes as he passed, so she followed in his wake, intrigued.

Tenderly, he placed the body down on a bed, then stepped back to allow the doctor close. She saw the stitches, glanced up at him, then back down. In the harsh medical light, the reddened skin from the shackle oozed unhealthily, gouges on the collar bone and shoulders showing where the weight of the chain had dragged for far too long.

“First things first…” Dr Cho said, gathering implements, putting on gloves, and keeping any thoughts hidden behind her professionalism. She sat on a wheeled stool, pulled herself close to the figure on the bed, then paused, remembering what Barnes had told her about being operated on without consent. “I’d like to remove these stitches on your mouth, is that OK?” There was no response, no indication that they could hear or understand. Barnes stepped forward, maintaining eye contact.

“Can you understand us? Verstehst du? Вы понимаете? ¿Español? English?” The doctor hid her surprise at his abilities, watching as the person slowly nodded. “Pусский?” Nothing. Then “English?” and a nod. “The doctor is going to take the stitches out of your mouth. If you need her to stop, lift your hand, ok?” A pause, then another nod.

Dr. Cho leant forward, scissors in hand and gently cut the threads holding the mouth together, then tugged on each knot with tweezers, watching as the skin pulled and a drop of blood formed at each wound. There was no reaction from the body as she treated it, eyes staying locked on Barnes’.

“All done.” She swabbed the wounds clean, thinking about what to treat next, then looked up and saw one tear slide down the dirty face, as shoulders slumped in relief. Then a hand rose, gesturing. She glanced at Barnes, confused, then jumped as the hand grabbed at her, before realising it was her pen that they wanted. The person had been trying to indicate writing. She passed over the pen, found a prescription pad and passed it on, then stepped back to stand beside Barnes.

The writing was shaky, ill-formed and slow, like a child tracing out each letter.

 _‘watr’_.

They both stared for a second, then Barnes turned and grabbed a glass, filling it from the sink and handing it over, to be gulped down desperately, then held out for a refill. After three glasses, the doctor stopped his hand, apologetically.

“Too fast and you’ll just bring it back up again, ok?” There was a nod, although the face still turned to Barnes.

“Can you tell us your name?” Barnes sat on the edge of the bed. He was full of pity for the obvious signs of torture. There was a shrug, a slight frown, then the pen was picked up again, more awkward writing.

 _‘dont no’_.

Barnes met Dr Cho’s eyes, and she could see his anger and the pain at Hydra's theft of someone else's identity. He closed his eyes for a second to compose himself.

“Can you speak?”

That brought a reaction. A look of surprise then concern, as if this was a trick.

 _‘not alowd’_.

A soft whisper of noise drew the doctor’s eye downwards. Barnes’ left hand was tensed into a fist, the only indication of his fury, the straining metal reflecting his rage. She took charge.

“OK Barnes, go get cleaned up, give us some privacy.” He tore his eyes away from the figure on the bed, nodded, then turned back.

“I’ll be back, OK?”

Eyes followed him as he left, staying fixed on the door while the doctor bustled around, as if waiting for him to return.


	2. Chapter 2

Dr Cho had worked with the Avengers for long enough now that she had thought herself unshockable. She’d treated wounds that would have felled ordinary soldiers, had seen the creation of a new life form, been under mind control. But the sight of torture always made her shudder. The realisation that one human could so single-mindedly hurt another, went against every instinct she had.

She was a professional, used to keeping her face composed, but inside her mind was racing. There were physical wounds which could be treated and would heal, but the psychological scars would be permanent, she feared. Unconsciously, she let out a sigh. The figure on the bed turned eyes towards her watchfully. Dr Cho gave herself a shake, straightened up and smiled.

“OK, I’d like to examine you, and treat your wounds. I’ll be as gentle as I can, but just touch my arm, or raise your hand if you need me to stop, right?” The figure on the bed shrugged and lay back. Being asked for permission to be touched was not something they were used to. Dr Cho sighed again, quietly.

She worked alone, unwilling to bring in any help and create a spectacle and a source of gossip. Although there was no reaction from the person on the bed, she spoke quietly throughout, explaining what she was going to do before each step. 

“I’m going to have to remove your clothes. I’m going to cut them off so you don’t have to move, I will find you more when you’re clean though.” Another shrug, the face turning away as if to withdraw from all the procedures happening to their body. The doctor had seen this before, this dissociation to protect the mind from reality. She carried on her work, cleaning the deep neck wound, noting scars, many long since healed suggesting years of captivity.

The first real reaction came when she had finished her examinations. The patient was covered with a blanket and Dr Cho was preparing a drip, for antibiotics and fluids. She paused for a moment, then turned to the bed.

“Would you like a shower, before I set this up?”

Eye contact, for the first time. Eyes wide with hope, with anticipation. Dr Cho smiled. 

“Give me a minute, OK?” She found a wheelchair, clean scrubs, a blanket, and headed back to the room. “Come on, I’ll take you there.”

Movements were slow and painful and the eyes looked wary now as if afraid that this was a trap. The frail body barely added to the weight of the chair as Dr Cho left the room and set off down the corridor. The medical wing was quiet, there were few patients so many of the staff were away. She headed down to the bathrooms and locked the door behind them.

The room was a world away from Hydra. Clinical white tiles shone under the lights and every sound echoed. Opening a cupboard, Dr Cho pulled out soft towels, the white pile highlighting the grey film of filth. Turning the shower on, the room was filled with the sound of splashing and a cloud of steam gradually filled the room, swathing them both in mist.

“There’s a chair in there. Do you think you can do it yourself, or do you want help?” The body stood, holding onto the arm of the chair for stability for a second as the blanket fell away. Dr Cho had to avert her eyes from the sight, the body so angular it seemed contorted, ribs and joints jutting out with malnourishment, knotted scars standing proud on the skin. The face though, showed a terrified relief at the thought of a pleasure as simple as being clean and warm.

“I’ll wait outside. Take your time, there’s soap, shampoo in there. Towels here, and if you need me, pull that cord.” She left the room, pulled up a chair outside and sat, thinking.

A little while later, Barnes returned, cleaned and re-dressed himself. He was heading for the medical room when he noticed the doctor sitting outside the bathroom. He raised an eyebrow questioningly as she looked up at his approach. 

“Showering. Has been for over half an hour now. I’ve checked, she’s not drowned,” she said with a half-smile.

“She?” The doctor nodded in response as he continued. “I couldn’t tell, just bones and dirt and fear when we found her. She barely looked human.” He pulled up a chair to join the doctor and they sat quietly together, watching the steam billow out from under the door.

A short while later, the sound from the bathroom changed. The soft whisper of water on tiles stopped, footsteps, a pause, and then the door opened. Dr Cho and Barnes stood as the figure stepped through the doorway, head down. Her hair was wet and clean but still matted and tangled, the green scrubs hung loosely from her shoulders. With the dirt washed away, the scars on her skin stood out even more, pale lines on darker skin. She looked up, eyes too large, cheekbones too prominent, and saw Barnes, then slowly, her knees buckled and she fell to the floor.

Bucky reacted immediately, reaching for her as she fainted; relief, starvation and exhaustion taking their toll. Far gentler than his reputation would suggest, he picked her up and followed Dr Cho to another room, laying the body on the bed and tenderly pulling up a blanket while the doctor set up antibiotics, fluids, glucose, hoping that somehow treating the physical needs would provide comfort.

Perhaps it was the relief of rescue, the need to no longer keep going but to rest and know that someone else would take care, but she slept deeply for many hours, barely stirring. Bucky sat in shadow beside her bed, utterly still, but eyes glinting in the dark. His fists were clenched with the need to make someone pay, make someone suffer, for what had been done. 

It was many hours later that she began to surface from the bottomless depths of sleep. Bucky’s eyes missed none of the signs. A hand twitched, her head turned restlessly, eyelids flickered open for a second. She let out a small whimper of fear, her mouth closed as if the stitches were still there. Hydra nightmares. Bucky leant forward, wondering what comfort he could best offer. He knew that being touched in the depths of a nightmare only increased the fear. After so many years of brutal treatment, the slightest touch was interpreted by the sleeping mind with terror. His jaw clenched with frustration at his powerlessness.

Then she stilled in the bed, eyes opening but seeing only dreams. Her mouth opened for the first time, and she spoke, quietly, her voice much deeper than he had expected.

“No, go away!”

Almost before he had consciously heard her voice, Bucky was outside the door. Bewildered, he looked around, unsure how he’d got here, his legs carrying him towards the stairs. A door opened down the corridor and a nurse started running for the elevator, his arms full of supplies which fell unnoticed. The compulsion to go, to get away, carried him down two flights of stairs before he was able to resist. He sat down on the concrete steps, clinging on to the railing as if to stop his body from carrying him further away, and rested his head on the cool wall for a moment to shake the urge he felt to keep moving. With shaking hands, he pulled out his phone, and dialled Steve.

“So, I know why they sewed her mouth shut…”


	3. Chapter 3

After a brief conversation, Bucky put the phone back in his pocket and stood, turning to face back up the stairs. He forced himself to walk upwards, gripping the banister hard, each step a struggle. The compulsion to go away, to just leave, pressed on his mind and he fought hard to overcome it. After an agonising walk, he reached the medical floor and opened the door from the stairwell. The corridor was empty, abandoned items littering the floor. He walked as if facing into a high wind, teeth gritted, muscles aching with tension. He passed a side room, looked in through the open door to see a patient lying on the floor, bleeding. They’d obviously tried to leave, crawling across the floor under the mental command, before, mercifully, blacking out.

As he approached her room, he started to hear whimpering, the thrashing of someone tossing and turning in bed. He stood in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame hard enough to leave splinters. She wasn’t awake still, lying somewhere on the border between sleep and unconsciousness, trapped in a Hydra-nightmare. Her fingers scrabbled at the sheets, feet moving as if trying to run. Her mouth was clamped closed again, years of torture-enforced habit hard to break even in sleep.

He moved across the room, slowly. His mind protested, leaving his body feeling as if he was wading through treacle. Every muscle fibre, every nerve ending, was aching with the need to get out, to go, to run. Bucky reached the bed, at last, and stretched out his hand, grasping her wrist firmly.

Her eyes sprang open instantly and fearfully, and locked onto his. As soon as she recognised him, everything stopped. An eerie silence replaced the ringing in his ears and his body, tensed against the pressure to leave, suddenly relaxed. He felt almost giddy, a wave of relief washing over him.

“You had a nightmare,” he said, watching her as she nodded. “And you spoke…”

She flinched, involuntarily, and his heart hurt for the pain she’d obviously suffered whenever she talked. Hydra must have known about her powers, have sewn her mouth shut to ensure she could never use her compulsion against them. They would have backed that up with threats, beatings, worse.

“It’s OK. Not your fault, and no one is going to hurt you for talking, not ever, not here.” Ever so slowly, he reached out and pushed the strands of tangled hair off her face. “I’ve just gotta go help someone, I’ll be back, OK?”

Quickly he walked down the corridor, checking each room. He lifted the patient back into his bed, handed him over to a sheepish nurse who had reappeared, trying to understand why he had left his post without a thought. Time enough to explain to everyone else later, that wasn’t his concern now. 

As he walked back down to her room, a voice called out from behind him. He turned, and seeing Steve, waited for him to catch up. They stopped in the corridor to talk.

“You sure about this, she’s got powers? It wasn’t just some… glitch in your head?” Steve said, apologetically. Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Not unless the glitch affected the medical staff, and a patient with a broken leg too, who all left. Or in the case of the Leg Guy, tried to leave and passed out on the floor. Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty sure.” He grinned, the lightness he felt after the force was lifted still affecting him, but then his face darkened. “I’m guessing Hydra kept her mouth sewn shut to stop her using it on them, but with enough fear, enough pain, they probably got her to use it for them too.” He leant back against the wall, resting his head back for a moment before looking at his friend. “What are you thinking Steve?”

The Captain didn’t respond immediately, carefully considering his options. Bucky waited, a frown of concern appearing as the pause lengthened.

“Steve?”

“Just trying to work things out Buck. Don’t worry, she’s safe here, you know that. We’ll find a way around this, if you think she can control what she says?”

“She was asleep, this time. So it could happen any time she’s asleep. As to awake, your guess is as good as mine Stevie. Right now, she’s still too terrified by Hydra to use her voice, but if she feels comfortable here, maybe that barrier’ll fall. Then it’s anyone’s guess what she gets us doing.”

“Gonna be like that time Tony brought the hypnotist in... Not going to forget Clint thinking he was Nat any time soon…” For a moment, the two friends shared a smile, then Bucky pushed himself off the wall, flinging an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s go try and work this out.”

She hadn’t moved when they got back to the room, eyes turning fearfully to the door as it opened. Steve entered first, and saw her draw back and tense up in fear before she saw Bucky behind him. Her eyes followed him into the room. He’d been the one to break her out of the Hydra cell and she trusted him now.

“This is my friend, Steve, he’s a good guy, he’s not going to hurt you.” Her eyes swung briefly from Bucky to Steve, then back again, before she nodded. Beside her starved body, the two men looked even larger than normal. Wanting to appear unintimidating, they both pulled up chairs and sat.

“So, when you were asleep, earlier, you… called out. Shouted for everyone to ‘go away’. And we did. We had no choice. I’m guessing you knew you could do that?”

He saw her swallow convulsively, obviously expecting to pay the price for what she’d done. When nothing happened, very quietly, she spoke.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Nothing happened. Just a small, tired, frightened voice, breaking slightly on the edge of tears. Just three ordinary words. The two men looked at each other.

“So, you only do it in your sleep? Or you can choose when to do it? Is it under your control?”

Her head sunk back against the pillow. She was still weak, and overwhelmed by the events of the day. The men had to lean forward to hear her when she started to speak, exhaustion and under-use making her whisper.

“I choose. I can talk. Or I can command.”


	4. Chapter 4

She was too tired to talk for long. Too tired, and too scared. The habit of not speaking, the fear of punishment, was so long ingrained that it would be hard to break. They managed to ask her a few questions, before Dr. Cho came in, shooing them out of the room to let her rest. After that, she stopped speaking again. Steve brought her a notepad and pen, which she clutched to herself, communicating only through writing. She felt clumsy holding the pen, unused to writing, choosing only short sentences, few words. The barrier between her and the rest of the world was strong, impossible to break through. 

Tony set up a sound-proofed room and she was moved into it, in case she spoke in her sleep again, but after that one brief conversation, she didn’t speak again. For weeks, she sat, walked, lay, all in silence. She refused all decisions, acting purely when told to act. Eat, sleep, have your wounds treated, rest, she was an automaton. Barnes watched her and hated what he saw. For all that their commands were gentle, caring, compassionate, she was still following orders, just as Hydra had trained her to do. She refused all autonomy, would simply stand and wait if no one told her to sit; would watch food grow cold and congeal if no one told her to eat. They were at a loss to know what to do.

Barnes was the only one she trusted, still. Not that she feared the others, but her eyes sought him out whenever he was there, and he was the only one who could encourage any kind of communication. To Dr. Cho, to Steve, to everyone else, her writing was short, emotionless. _Yes, no, fine, thank you_. To Bucky, gradually, she gave away a little more. 

She was healing well, and one afternoon a month or so after she had been found, Barnes took her outside. She could walk well enough now, was still too thin, skin too pale, but she was gaining weight and the sunshine would do her good. The air was hot and humid, passers-by walking slow and the air filled with the drowsy hum of bees. They sat on a bench in the roof garden, slumping slightly, relaxing in the heat as the sauna-like warmth soaked into their muscles.

Bucky rolled up his sleeves, stretching his arms along the back of the bench, and let his eyes fall closed as he raised his head to the sun. She paused for a moment, ensuring he wasn’t watching, then slowly turned to look at his arm. She was fascinated with the metal arm, saw it as her saviour from her cell, and would secretly watch out of the corner of her eye as Bucky moved, watching the plates slide against one another. Now in the sunshine, the glare from the silver metal was almost dazzling. Drawn irresistibly towards it, her hand reached out and oh-so gently ran one finger down from elbow to wrist, then lay her palm against the plates, feather-light touch. The metal was sun-warm under her hand; another few minutes and it might be too hot to touch but for now it was pleasant, smooth and warm as a pebble on the beach.

She looked up, and found grey-blue eyes watching her, Barnes’ face utterly still and unconcerned. Emboldened, she didn’t withdraw her hand but kept her eyes on his, as she ran her fingers back up to the elbow and on to the shoulder, fingernail clicking quietly over each joint. Bucky’s voice, when he spoke, was almost a whisper.

“Hydra did this, you know. I lost my arm, they gave me this one. Can’t say I exactly thank them for it.” He gave a small, gentle, smile. Her hand had stilled at his words, eyes widening. He wished he could feel with his prosthetic arm, hadn’t realised until now how much he wanted to be able to feel her hand on him, fingers looking so delicate against the shape of his muscles. 

“Hydra broke me. Over and over. Never thought I’d find a way to live with that.” He reached out with his flesh hand, slowly touched his fingertips to hers, barely a touch but enough that his senses felt overwhelmed. He withdrew his hand before she could feel scared. “I did though. There’s the time, the peace here, for all of us.” 

Time slowly brought a little more progress. They sat out in the sun every day, so close that they were almost touching, but never quite making contact. She gained some colour in her skin, her hair looking healthier, eyes brighter, with new food, and new company.

He told her the story of his life, a little every day. Much of it was missing; he remembered enlisting, being captured, falling, then there were 70 years of fleeting impressions, memories he didn’t want to chase down for fear of what he’d find. Then Steve, the helicarriers, the river, and now this. Home. Family. Peace.

It took another month before she started to talk. He was telling her about growing up in the 30s, how he’d gone out dancing every night when he could, the delight of holding someone in your arms, spinning until you were breathless and dizzy. He was almost talking to himself, long since having given up hope of a response.

“I like dancing,” she said, quietly, almost as if testing the memory.

His head turned, but he didn’t speak, waiting to see if there was any more. 

“I used to dance. I remember dancing.” Her eyes were wide as a memory returned, something happy, something real, at last appearing in place of the years of Hydra-memories. Something that was _hers_ breaking through from the torture. Her lips trembled as she started to smile, the grin splitting her face in two.

“May I?” Bucky stood and held out his left hand to her. She eyed it and almost shocking herself, reached out her own hand and placed hers lightly in his. Barely closing his fingers, Bucky helped her to her feet, placing his hand on her waist, so gently that the fabric of her clothes barely moved. He looked down at her, the bones of her wrist still too prominent, and for a moment he too was transported back into his memories. He remembered grinning down at a woman in a blue dress, soft wrists and curves all over, spinning her out and then back into him so she bumped against his chest, neither of them complaining. He couldn’t do that here, but the memory made him smile. Carefully, watching for signs of overload, he started to sway, feet only just moving. She was watching him anxiously, unsure for a moment, then he started to hum and she smiled again, the fearsome Winter Soldier quietly singing to himself and swaying with her in the sunshine. She let herself give in, and they shared in that sense of peace for a few moments.

Most days were not so peaceful. As autumn drew in, she left the hospital wing at last, and moved to a room that Tony had set up for her, next door to Barnes. Soundproofed again, although she had never used her command voice since that first time in the hospital, but the soundproofing did at least hide the cries from her nightmares. It was an unspoken but sad fact that most of the Avengers’ rooms were barriered for the same reason. 

Her body had healed now; she had gained weight, was declared healthy, although there would always be a scar around her neck from the shackle. Bucky knocked on her door one day, waited for her to open it, knowing that she would prefer to move and open the door than to call out to whoever was there.

When she opened the door, he was smiling, slightly sheepishly. He still found it hard to be the man he had once been, the charming dancing man was long lost and he could never believe that anyone would view him in the same way. He was holding a soft parcel in his hands, passing it to her. She took it, though both looked puzzled, as if this was some strange ritual they’d both got caught up in. 

Walking back into her room, followed by Bucky, she set the parcel down on the table. 

“It’s for you,” he said, nodding at it, trying to appear offhand and nonchalant. She smiled and unwrapped the tissue. Inside was a scarf, soft blue and silken. Bucky watched as she ran it through her fingers, her face bright with pleasure at the feel. She wrapped it around her neck, the scar vanishing beneath the blue, then held one end up to her face and rubbed it against her cheek, giggling at the feel. Feeling brave, she walked towards him, and reached up, sliding the scarf against Bucky’s cheek too.

“Thank you,” she said, and as he smiled down at her, standing close enough that he could feel the warmth of her skin, he knew she was thanking him for more than just the scarf.

Progress was slow, sometimes feeling as if they went backwards more than forwards. She began to talk more, always quiet and timid, but gradually opening up about what she remembered of her past. But as she remembered more – or found more gaps where memories should be – her mood lowered. She never cried, but would hide herself away and lie, frozen, trying to find something to fill the holes in her memory, but all that arose was pictures of torture at the hands of Hydra. Her fingers would run across her lips unconsciously, back and forth across the tiny hard scars left by the stitches that had kept her silent.

Life would have continued much like this forever, unless something happened to cause a change. Hydra had caused her to lose herself, and ironically, now Hydra were to be the cause of another change. 

It had been a day much like any other, she had spoken to a few people, her voice quiet, but always welcomed when she spoke, and now she was sitting apart, reading slowly, her finger marking each word as she struggled against years of missed education. The room was quiet and still, everyone engaged in their own tasks, when the silence was broken by the blare of an alarm. Heads whipped up, instincts quick, as weapons were sought, while JARVIS’s voice came though. ‘Hydra attack, from the roof.’

They didn’t mean her to follow them, they didn’t expect it. Tony was already on the way upstairs, components of his suit flying towards him as he ran. Steve and Bucky had grabbed up shield, guns as they flew out of the door. Almost without meaning to, she ran too, following on their heels. As they reached the top of the stairs, the sounds of fighting grew louder, and as the door burst open, she saw the shape of a soldier silhouetted against the light. A shadow shield flew into the shape, which fell, Steve jumping over the body even as he caught the returning shield. Bucky was next up the stairs, leaping through the doorway, gun in hand, and she followed.

The sight that met her eyes brought back more memories than she could cope with. Blood, bodies, the stench of fear and anger. Without a thought, she opened her mouth and spoke.

“Stop.” 

One word, and all movement stopped. Eyes turned to her, Hydra and Avenger alike.

“You work for Hydra, you cannot move. Your legs are fused with the ground. Your arms are as heavy as lead. Everyone else is free to move.”

She saw the panic on people’s faces as they tried desperately to move, to run, only to find their legs as unresponsive as he concrete on which they stood. They tried to raise guns but although she could see muscles straining, nobody was able to lift their arms. SHIELD agents and Avengers shook off her command, watching her in surprise as they disarmed the Hydra soldiers. There was a moment of surprise as one SHIELD agent was found, frozen, and they realised how the Hydra team had managed to infiltrate the tower. With everyone handcuffed, she released her command, and watched as the soldiers sagged to the floor with relief as if their muscles were weakened with the strain. Still standing just outside the doorway, she watched as each soldier was taken away downstairs. They were all too afraid to meet her eyes, and she revelled in the power.

After the attack, she shut herself away for two days, refusing to let anyone in. JARVIS reported that she was well, was sitting and occasionally pacing, but had asked to be left alone. She had much to think about. For so long, she had been afraid to speak, had been used to the punishment that followed, but now, she realised that she had a voice, and she could use it. Not to command, but to talk. To join the team, to have friends. She wouldn’t be punished for that, and if anyone tried to hurt her again, or her friends, she had the power to save them. She felt stronger than she had for a long time, felt a hope in the future.

She showered, standing under the spray and talking to herself, letting the sound of her voice fill her ears after years of silence. The water pooled in her mouth and she blew it out, making a fountain of water, and laughing at the result. The sound of laughter wasn’t one she had made for so long. It was with a head held high that she left the room, unlocking the door and walking to Bucky’s room next door.

Bucky had been unable to sleep, worrying about what was happening in her room, for all JARVIS’s reassurances, and so he was quick to open the door, stumbling in his haste. He was surprised to see her, she looked different, more confident, more alive. 

“Thank you. For saving me.” She reached out, slid her fingers into his metal hand, but with a firmer touch than ever before. He closed his fingers around hers, pulled her into his room. They held hands while she talked, more words than she had said in all her missing years. They talked through the night, about where she had come from, and what she had done, what she had to live with, and about the future. Neither of them had expected to have a future, but in each other, there was a hope.


End file.
